Temper

“I try to be good,” he said. His droopy eyes were almost closed, and I decided to leave him there for the night. The sky was wide and bruised with stars, and a cool breeze was curling its tail around the porch. I would bring him a blanket and a pillow for his head; he was too big to coax into a bed. “I got a temper,” he said, and it almost turned into a snore. His eyes snapped open for a moment. “I don’t know where it comes from. My old man, probably, he had a temper. I tamp it down best I can, but the stove fills up with smoke too quick….”